


someone else inhabits this body

by ecotone



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drifter's bar, Felwinter is always in crisis mode, Gen, Team as Family, early City Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecotone/pseuds/ecotone
Summary: Felwinter cannot tell the Iron Lords many things.He's working to build a future where he can.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	someone else inhabits this body

“Felwinter,” Timur calls down the long hallway, his voice echoing off the chipped stone. 

“What?” Felwinter shouts back, the quiet of the Temple broken. He'd been sitting for Traveler knows how long in the silence, running through the ways in which everything around him could shatter. True quiet at the Peak was rare; it'd only occurred once Skorri and the Hunters were all away on patrol. The rest of them are all battle-tired or quiet by nature— all except Timur, he supposes. Timur had jumped to sensor-frying eagerness the moment they’d met in the Mothyards. 

The echoes grow closer as Timur makes his way towards the end of the hall. He grabs the door frame as he arrives, gliding in gently, the tips of his boots skidding across the stone floor. He steps one-two when he hits the carpet, back on solid ground. Judging by the grin, Felwinter thinks, his mood isn’t coming down to meet him. 

“Tyra is back from the Cryptarchy,” Timur starts, “and the Host discovered some new Bray files on their last mission.” He pauses, mouth pulled into something between excitement and disappointment. “They were cleared for public access within a day. I wouldn’t expect the secrets of the world.” 

Felwinter’s optics flutter fully open at that. He goes through everything he finds meticulously, almost obsessively, before showing it to anyone; Timur is usually the same way. “You haven’t read them yet?” 

“Warmind files are always a surprise best shared,” Timur demurs, but he looks pleased that his patience has been recognized. “Besides,” he adds, “they’re more suited to your taste.” 

“Mm,” Felwinter hums, something of an agreement, though he tries to temper his reactions when it comes to being linked to the Warminds. Timur looks at him, eyebrows raised— there’s something left to this discussion, he just needs to find it. “Would you like to go over them now?” he tries. 

Timur’s eyes light up. That was it, then. “I’d be happy to,” he says, coming over to stand by the worktable; it shakes as Timur’s Ghost transmats the files in on top of it. Felspring buzzes into existence to give the files a quick scan, stares long at Felwinter with her eye half-closed. A challenge. Felwinter looks away first, busies himself with sorting through Tyra’s spoils. 

After a few hours, he concludes Timur was right: the files, while interesting enough, contain little that they haven’t found elsewhere, whether together or in one of Felwinter’s solitary investigations. Instead, he mostly leafs through papers, pretending half-heartedly to read them while Timur keeps up a stream of chatter in the background. It would be amusing, or maybe annoying, if he didn’t feel so hollowed-out every time Timur mentions him fondly, makes it clear how much he _trusts_ him, that he believes he knows who-what Felwinter is. 

Sometimes, he wishes Timur was like Radegast— that he disliked him, thought he was an emotionless killer unwilling to accept the Iron Lords’ rules. Their research into SIVA would be more tedious, less fruitful, maybe, but it would mean Felwinter wouldn’t constantly be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Timur to find out what he truly is and have his curiosity finally satisfied just before a bullet goes through his Ghost. And that— well. He doesn’t like to think about it. 

Sometimes he wishes he’d never left the Peak, hadn’t let Aarthi’s words dig so deep into his mind, hadn’t felt that bone-deep desire to change things, to try and make the world a little better, a little softer. Maybe he should've been selfish. 

“Felwinter?” Timur asks, waving a hand in front of his face. He’s a safe distance away when he does it; sudden movements while in striking range were usually a bad idea, no matter which Risen you’re dealing with. Jolder’s gotten stabbed while waking up one of the Hunters more times than he can count. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“You usually at least _pretend_ to nod along with what I’m saying,” Timur replies, petulant, but his eyebrows are furrowed. “You need some fresh air, I think. Let’s walk down to the village, hm? Skorri and the others should be getting back soon, we might meet them there.” He smiles— his City-visiting smile, the only one he has that doesn’t make him look like he’s about to start raving— and pulls Felwinter gently towards the door. 

And Felwinter lets him, despite the wave of admonishment-uncertainty that Felspring pushes towards him. He’s tired, even more so than usual, and the months-long drought of information on SIVA is weighing heavily on all of them. Besides, working himself into the ground raises more questions than it answers, these days. 

He still doesn’t fully believe any of these people trust him, much less care about him in any true capacity. If it’s all a front, though, they’re very good at maintaining it. 

_You’re about to fall,_ Felspring tells him, and he jerks back into reality just as they reach the stairs. She laughs at him as he goes, though she stays hidden while she does it. 

He tries his best to stay in the present as they walk, half because he knows Felspring won’t give him a second warning and half because he doesn’t want Timur asking too many questions about his mental state. Timur gossips with Skorri, and anything Skorri knows is common knowledge within the next week. Felwinter would rather not be the subject of any rampant speculation, especially not on his own mountain. 

He doesn’t have to worry long, though. Timur spends most of the walk down the Peak chatting about how Osiris, freshly arrived in the City, is apparently already making waves among the academics. It’s easy enough to follow along with the conversation, hum when applicable, occasionally mention something Osiris said the last time he visited. 

“He’s making friends, or so I hear,” Timur says, grinning as Felwinter’s throat-lights go yellow and something in the back of his head starts whirring.

“What? Him?” Felwinter takes a moment, processes; it seems like Timur’s always two steps ahead of him with things like these, with everything that doesn't matter. “How did you find that out?”

“Well, he said something to Nirwen, who told Skorri, who told me…” 

So they go, Timur telling him about City-gossip and his plans to find more bunkers and Rience’s latest schemes, while Felwinter listens and nods and watches the bustle of the village grow clearer as they approach. His head always clears a little when he sees the village, when he gets a concrete reminder of who exactly they're fighting for, who he risks his life for every day. 

By the time they reach the bar, it’s easy to tell the others are back— when Risen are in the bar, there’s always a bustle at the entrance, children peeking in and adults standing by the entrance, weighing a drink with the possibility of a firefight breaking out. Timur’s Ghost, always fond of the village’s children, floats amongst them as they run closer to see her. 

Wu Ming greets them when they come in, though Felwinter isn’t especially fond of the finger-guns Ming shoots his way. He waves a hand towards the back table the other Lords have already commandeered, even as Skorri’s wild waving draws their attention anyway. 

“Hey! You two!” Skorri calls, hair wild. “Perun cut off a Baron’s head!” 

Gheleon, asleep and half under the table, groans. Perun throws a grape at him. 

Felwinter watches them as they bicker, arguing over who killed the most Fallen or who deserves the praise in this part of Skorri’s song. It’s almost comfortable, Felwinter thinks, then double-checks all the exits just in case. This can't last forever, as much as he wants it to. He wants to be ready for the end. 

They linger in the bar until dark, when Ming stops refilling their drinks and starts talking about how _the night crowd won’t come in if you’re still here_ and _you’ve got the run of the Peak, there must be other places to sit._

“You think he’d kill us if we stayed?” Efrideet asks, a glint in her eye like she’s about to find out. 

Perun sighs, shakes her head. “Let’s not antagonize the local business owners,” she says, grins lightning-quick at Felwinter when he throws a grateful look her way. “Besides, he gave me a free drink.” 

“Why did you get a free drink?” Efrideet half-whines, but she’s already standing to leave. The others follow her out; Felwinter lingers just outside, in case Ming has anything he wants to say. He just waves, though, so Felwinter figures he’s no more unsavory favors to ask— not now, anyway. It’s the kind of interaction he’s most comfortable with: no questions about his past, no debates about the ethics of the no-killing rule, just a service he can provide. No community to lie to and betray, no secrecy, no fear— 

“Hey, Fel! Come on!” Efrideet shouts, and Felwinter moves to catch up with the rest of the pack. 

Maybe those things are temporary. Maybe they can communicate with Rasputin, and gain access to SIVA, and change the world for the better. Maybe he won’t be on the run anymore, won't have to live in fear. Maybe he’ll be able to tell them all, to finally feel like one of them. There will be an end, but maybe it doesn't have to be the one he's waiting for. 

There’s so much uncertainty in the world. Maybe, he decides, he’s willing to take a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> The Liar took a sledgehammer to my Felwinter characterization, so I'm trying to get him sorted again. We're figuring it out as we go! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments appreciated, as always. <3


End file.
